


When Your Long Night Ends

by orphan_account



Category: SHINee, SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22428871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Taemin sees things no one else can. His life, which is already difficult, becomes a lot more complicated when he meets a strange man named Key.
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Kim Kibum | Key/Lee Taemin
Comments: 25
Kudos: 33





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

There is a little music box in the window of the shop.

Taeminnie has been staring at it for weeks.

Her job cleaning the office next door pays just enough to keep a roof over their heads. It takes two more part-time jobs, one folding facemasks and the other delivering _banchan_ , to keep them fed and him in kindergarten. There is hardly any money left for other necessities like soap and clothes, much less birthday or Christmas presents.

  
But every time Kyungsoon sees her son’s face pressed against the dusty glass of the shop, she wishes that, for once, things could be different. He’s a good boy, the best child a mother can ask for. He deserves so much more than she can give him.

The week before Christmas, she gets a small bonus from the office. The first thing she does is to run next door and ask the middle-aged man behind the counter how much the music box costs.

“Sorry,” he replies gruffly “it’s not for sale.”

⌘

There is sweet potato roasting on a bed of coals. There’s half a fried chicken – an expensive purchase, but she can use the bones to make soup – and spring onion pajeon too. For presents, she has bought herself gloves and a thick, woollen jumper for him. It feels wrong not to wrap them but wrapping paper is a luxury she can’t afford right now.

It doesn’t seem like she ever will.

Her life was not always so miserable. Her father was a teacher and her mother, a housewife. For as far back as she can remember, Christmas always meant came with a table laden with food and brightly-coloured presents under a tree. Whatever their financial struggles might have been, Kyunsgsoon never wanted for anything – until she became pregnant out of wedlock.

Sometimes Kyungsoon wonders what her life would be like if she had kept her legs shut like her parents expected her to.

Her son is a blessing far greater than presents and feasts, Kyungsoon tells herself whenever her mind wanders down that road, though sometimes she’s just repeating the words without believing them.

Today is one of those days.

The potatoes cook just in time for their neighbour to drop Taeminnie off after Mass. He comes running to her, eager to show off the little gift bag of chocolates and crayons that the church gives away each year. Their neighbour, though not much better off than them, has also given him a little toy car; she recognises it as a hand-me-down from their eldest son, but she’s grateful nonetheless.

“Come and eat,” she says “while the food is hot and then we can see our presents.”

⌘

She’s cleaning up and listening to her son make a variety of car sounds when there comes a knock on the door.

It’s late and she’s not expecting any guests.

On the other side of the door is a young man, a stranger. From what little Kyungsoon can see through the crack that the still-latched door allows her to open, he’s tall and dressed in a suit. His shoes, meticulously shined, look like real leather. It’s plain that he doesn’t belong in this neighbourhood. Or that he’s a part of its seedy underbelly that she’s managed to avoid, until now.

“Good evening,” he says. “Sorry to interrupt your Christmas, but we have some unfinished business to settle.”

She’s not stupid enough to fall for that. “I don’t think so,” she says, injecting finality into her voice though her bones are trembling. The door is cheap plywood that a child can kick in; if he’s intent on violence, it won’t hold him back.

“You were after a music box in my shop, right?”

The hammering of her heart slows a little. “I was told it wasn’t for sale.”

“Yes. And yet, it’s mysteriously disappeared.”

Kyungsoon keeps her voice low despite her anger. “I’m not a thief.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind me having a look around, right? Otherwise I’ll have to call the police.”

“Go ahead.”

“Tsk.” He regards her as if she’s gum stuck at the bottom of his expensive shoe. “I’m already late for a Christmas party. I’m sure the police won’t be happy to be called out for petty theft either. Why waste everyone’s time when this can all be handled in five minutes? It’s not like you live in a mansion that’ll take a day to search through. If you didn’t take it, what are you afraid of?”

Though Kyungsoon knows that his accusations are baseless, she also knows that he has her trapped. He’s rich and the police will bend over backwards to accommodate him; she’s poor and even if he murders her, he’ll get away with it. All over a music box.

She unlatches the door and opens it; Taeminnie leaves his toy to come and hide behind her. “Who’s this?” he asks in a whisper.

But the man hears the question nonetheless. With a bright smile – a smile that reminds her of a shark – he kneels and extends a hand to her son. “Hello there, little kid.”

“I’m not a kid.”

Kyungsoon wants to tell him not to talk to her son, but he speaks before she can. “Well, not-a-kid, I’m looking for something of mine. It’s a little music box. Have you seen it around?”

Silence.

“I… I don’t know... what is a music box?”

It’s a lie. Kyungsoon’s heart skips a beat.

The man’s smile turns even more cruel. “Has your mother told you what happens to little boys who lie? No? Well, what happens is demons come and steal the part of their soul that lied when they’re sleeping. With each lie they tell, they lose a little more of their soul until there’s nothing left and they shrivel up and die.”

“Don’t talk to my son like that,” Kyungsoon snaps. She crouches between them, pulling Taeminnie to face her. “My lovely son, Umma isn’t angry with you. If you know where this ahjussi’s music box is, you can tell me.”

“In my bag,” he whispers. His eyes are full of tears. “I wanted to give you a present. Jinhyuk and Heejin said I should.”

“How touching,” the man sneers.

Kyungsoon ignores him. “Can you get it for me?”

He does and she holds it out to the man, praying that this will be the end of it. Technically, they did steal it. If he wants to make their lives difficult, he can. “Here.”

He doesn’t take it. He barely glances at the music box before turning his attention back to her son, who’s trying his best to hide behind her. “You know what,” he says eventually “it’s just a trinket. You can keep it.”

“What?”

He shrugs. “There’s too much clutter in my shop anyway.”

Kyungsoon doesn’t trust him or his sudden change of heart, but what else can she say?

“Hey kid,” he says again “what’s your name?”

“Lee Taemin.”

“Merry Christmas, Lee Taemin.” He holds a hand out, patiently, until her son overcomes his shyness to shake it, and ruffles his hair too. Kyungsoon doesn’t like him touching her son, but they’re at his mercy now. “Enjoy your Christmas presents. We will meet again in the future.”

The certainty in that statement makes Kyungsoon’s hair stand on end, but before she can question him further, he stands up and bows slightly to her. “Well, goodnight. And goodbye.”

“Goodnight,” Kyungsoon answers faintly.

⌘

The day is warmer than expected, for which Kyungsoon is glad. She swings Taeminnie’s hand in hers as they walk to the market, where Christmas things left over will be sold off cheaply. She’s hoping to get some parsnips and sesame leaves, and if they’re lucky there’ll be sliced fish for _hwe_ that’s no longer fresh enough to eat raw but which she can stew.

“Umma,” he says, slowing down and dipping behind her skirt.

“Yes?” Kyungsoon looks around to see if her son recognised anyone – a neighbour or church member – but there’s no one. “What is it?”

“What is wrong with that ahjumma?”

Kyungsoon looks again. There’s a lady walking fast with steamed buns in a bag, but there’s nothing especially wrong with her. The other people on the road are all men. “Which ahjumma?”

He points to an empty corner. “That one.”

There is nothing in that corner, only a shop that’s closed. Kyungsoon feels a jolt of unease. She can tell when her son is playing the fool and right now, he’s not. “The ahjumma is there?” she asks to confirm, pointing at the empty spot.

He nods.

“And what’s wrong with her?”

“She…” he’s so pale as he struggles with his words. “Her head… it’s half. She only has half a head.”


	2. One

Itaewon is both familiar and strange.

Taeminn recognises the streets that he grew up on, but instead of the shabby recycling collection stores and tteokbokki stands selling meat of questionable origins, there are cafes with foreign names and boutiques selling chic streetwear. This used to be the place people came to get drugs and tattoos, but nowadays the drugs are poppers and the tattoo artists have Instagram pages instead of gang affiliations.

The biggest difference? It’s shrugged off the cloak of poverty to become a metropolitan area, a hipster hangout.

Yet, some things remain the same.

That half-headed demon is still where it always is. Taemin scrolls through nothing on his phone as he walks past its spot, hoping that it won’t recognise him as the child it used to terrorise. He must have changed too, because it looks through him like it does everybody else crossing the road at that time.

The apartment is an embodiment of the effect of time on Itaewon. On the outside, it’s got a glossy coat of paint and a bright neon signboard, but the inside is still as decrepit as he remembers. The paint is peeling off the walls and the floor is sticky and Taemin thinks there’s probably a metaphor in this if only he could be bothered about such things.

The flat itself is empty. They never had much anyway, but what little they had made the place seem homely. Stripped of those things, the flat now seems like a husk, like a body without a soul. The landlord must have thrown out his mother’s meagre possessions like she had threatened to.

He sits cross-legged in the middle of the room and tries to recall warm memories, but nothing comes.

There is only the bitter taste of failure.

He was so close. He had graduated. He had booked his flight home. He had applied for jobs, had a few interviews lined up, had the future mapped out. He was just counting down the days to bringing his first salary home to tell her that she could quit her jobs now, that she could have any fancy drink of her choice at the cafés around their home every day if she wanted to, that she could live for herself because it was his turn to support her now.

But those dreams will remain dreams.

The door opens, and in comes the landlady. “Ah, you’re here.”

“I’ve got the rent,” he says, reaching into his coat for the envelope.

“No rent,” she replies. “I’m selling the building, find somewhere else to stay. You’re young, I’m sure it won’t be a problem for you. Oh, by the way, your mother left something for you.”

“Huh?”

She opens the door wider and drags a box in. “Carrying boxes at my age,” she grumbles, even though the box is no bigger than briefcase. “It’s got your name on it. You should be grateful that I didn’t throw it away.”

Taemin bows and thanks her because that’s what she expects, and waits in awkward silence until she huffs and leaves.

The contents are underwhelming. There are some photographs of his grandparents, whom he had never met, and a well-thumbed copy of the Bible. There’s a music box and a scarf and some old birthday cards. There’s a man’s watch and a pearl hairpin and ring with obviously fake stones.

These things must have been important to his mother, but they mean nothing to him personally.

Taemin sighs.

⌘

Headphones in, eyes down.

Taemin learnt a long time ago that the best way to avoid demons is not to let on that he can see them.

He steps into the first café that he sees. That’s another thing he’s learnt; they’re less likely to be in busy places like restaurants, malls and cafés or formal areas like the airport. He used to commute all the way to Gatwick airport every day during his study break, knowing that his university mates would add that to the list of things that made him weird and that he’d probably end up on a watch list or something. What they didn’t know, and what he couldn’t explain, was that old libraries are exactly the sort of place that attracts demons.

He’s quite used to being thought of as stupid or weird, it doesn’t disturb him anymore.

⌘

_Headphones in, eyes down._

_The best way to avoid demons is to pretend that he can’t see them._

_He’s almost made it home, even getting past the half-headed demon, when he spots a puddle of oil on the road and steps aside to avoid it. Big mistake. It’s not a puddle and not oil, but a demon whose bulbous eyes pop open to stare straight into his. Taemin’s heart nearly bursts in terror and the demon starts bubbling and frothing, growing larger until it looms over him and blocks out the sun._

_Taemin runs._

_He runs as fast as his legs can move, as far as they can carry him. He runs all the way back to school before his legs give way under him and he comes to his senses. There is a CU across the road, into which he limps and buys a Coke with his meagre pocket money. He drinks it slowly, taking time to gather the courage to make the trip home once more._

_The oil demon is still there. It’s still looming large across the lane – the only lane – that leads to the apartment. Taemin hides around the corner and watches as people walk right through the demon and wonders how they can’t even sense that something evil is lurking nearby. He wishes he were one of them, so that he could just walk through it too._

_All night, he wanders around the neighbourhood, keeping to well-lit areas to avoid dangers of both supernatural and human origin. He wanders past clubs and tries to blend into the crowds spilling out of them, but his uniform makes him stick out like a_ _sore thumb. He gets told to go home several times. But everytime he checks, the oil monster is still spread out across the lane, waiting for him._

_Just before daybreak, Taemin drags his exhausted body to a stall that sells hangover soup and orders one for himself. It costs him the remainder of his allowance which is supposed to last until the end of the week, but he’s too hungry and heartsick to care._

_“Where the hell have you been?”_

_Taemin chokes on his soup and looks up to see his mother standing over him. She looks furious, far angrier than he’s ever seen her. She hits him, hard, slapping his back with the flat of her palm._

_“Do you know how worried I have been, huh, that my son suddenly didn’t come home? Do you know I went to police station to make a report? What were you thinking?”_

_“Umma-”_

“And now you’re here? Why do you need hangover soup? Have you been drinking?”

_Taemin looks up at her, at her unkempt hair and bloodshot eyes, and can’t bring himself to worry her more. It’s better that she thinks he’s a delinquent teen than one that can still see demons. “Sorry, I went to the arcade with my friends. They needed me on their team-”_

_“Yah, is that an excuse?” the stall ahjumma chimes in, uninvited. “They should ban these arcades, it’s just rotting the minds of children-”_

_“He couldn’t even tell me that he’s going out with his friends-”_

_“My son was the same at that age.”_

_Their voices blur over him._

⌘

The café is relatively quiet. There’s just one person behind the counter and two customers sitting alone. Taemin takes his time to read through the menu, but when he goes places his order of a croissant and matcha latte, the attendant/barista/cashier says “We have a breakfast promotion currently, if you buy a croissant or any other pastry, you get a free Americano, and it’s just 5,000 won.”

Though Taemin hates Americano, he buys the promoted breakfast anyway and walks to the end of the counter to wait for it. He’s just glancing around, for want of anything better to do, when he notices a pin-up board on the wall. It’s got a lot of flyers in every colour and some handwritten notes, and Taemin wanders away from the counter to read them. The flyers are mostly bands advertising performances at this club or that in upcoming days. The handwritten notes are more interesting. There is a heart and a ‘do well!’ which he assumes must be between lovers trying to be romantic and an offer to sell a rice-cooker.

But the thing that catches his eye is post-it note with the words “Flatmate wanted. Preferably male and open-minded” and a phone number scrawled underneath.

He needs to find a place to stay.

“Order up for Mr Lee Taemin.”

Without thinking, he rips the notice off the board and stuffs it into his pocket, and goes to collect his order. The croissant is golden and looks like it will be delicious, which makes up in part for the coffee he didn’t want. He finds a spot in a corner, away from any windows, and tucks into his first meal since arriving back in Seoul.

The croissant is rich and flaky, but it doesn’t hold a match to what he had dreamt of.

It takes a literal shake of his head to break out of that thought. Instead, Taemin focuses on the simple act of eating and drinking. The little square of frozen butter is unnecessary for such a good pastry, but he spreads it liberally anyway; eh’s apid for it, he might as well use it. The Americano is bitter, but not quite as horrid as he had assumed it would be.

When all that’s left of the croissant is crumbs on the plate and when the Americano has cooled beyond drinkability, Taemin remembers the note he’d ripped off the board. He pulls the crumpled paper out of his pocket, guilty, and sends a message to the number listed.

A reply comes almost immediately.

“The flat is at 5-18, Itaewon-ro 26-gil. If you’re free to come over now, we can discuss the details.”

⌘

There flat’s won Taemin over before he even gets inside.

First, it’s less than a ten-minute walk away from Itaewon subway station.

Second, there’s a CU around the corner.

Third, it’s obviously a new development. The less time he spends wandering around outside, the less likely he is to run into demons. He still remembers the month of torment the oil demon had caused him – until it was washed away by a storm – and it’s not something he ever wants to relive.

The person who answers the doorbell of Unit 5 is a young-ish man about Taemin’s age, which is no surprise given that the note specified a preference for male flatmates. Nor is his striking blue-green hair a surprise; the note had asked for open-minded applicants only.

What is surprising is how handsome he is.

Taemin is stunned, speechless.

The man doesn’t seem to realise the effect he has on Taemin because he breaks into a polite smile and says “Hello?”

He should be an actor. Or a model. This face deserves to be

“Are you the guy who texted about the flat earlier?”

Taemin’s voice returns to him before he makes things weird. “Yeah.”

“Come in,” the guy says, opening the door wider. “Wow, it’s only this morning that I put the notices up in the cafés around here. I guess it’s a better location than I assumed.”

“It’s a good location,” Taemin agrees.

The flat looks inconspicuously modern. The floors are wooden and the walls are beige. The far wall is a floor to ceiling window; there are no curtains, so the sunlight shines right through and warms the whole room. It feels homely.

“This is the lounge,” the guy says. “I’ve got some furniture coming, so there’ll be a couch and a table.”

Now that he mentioned furniture, Taemin notices a few boxes stacked here and there. He must be in the process of moving in.

“This way,” the guy walks down a narrow corridor “is where the bedrooms are. I’m taking the master bedroom, is that okay with you?”

Taemin peers into the smaller bedroom. It’s a decent size and there is just one window. It’ll do. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“There’s just one bathroom, and that’s by the kitchen.”

“It’s fine,” Taemin repeats. He has nothing to complain about; the flat is new and clean and it’s an adequate place to store his things and sleep. He doesn’t have many needs beyond that.

“Oh, well… do you want to see-”

The doorbell chimes and they both jump.

“Sorry, I’ve got to get that,” the guy says, to which Taemin nods. Alone, he steps into what might be his room, and takes a second look around the place. It’s not furnished at all, so he’ll have to buy a mattress at least. Perhaps a small cupboard too, although he’s quite used to living out of his suitcase. The view from the window is just the side-street outside. He’ll have to get curtains too, to create a barrier between the room and the outside world.

He’s drawn out of his plans for the room when he hears voices in the living room. The guy mentioned that he put up notices in cafés, not just one; perhaps someone else has come to see the flat too. It seems that humans are the ones making his life difficult today.

But when he returns to the living room, he sees his host talking to another man whose hair is dyed the same shade of blue-green and who is just as handsome as him. From the way they’re smiling at each other, Taemin guesses that this is the reason why the post-it had asked for an open-minded flatmate.

The chatter dies down when they notice him. “Oh, uhm…” his host says, looking between his friend and Taemin “Uh, sorry, I can’t believe I forgot to introduce myself earlier, I’m Jongin and this is Lucas.”

“Hey,” Lucas says, with a curt wave. His voice is deep.

“Lee Taemin,” Taemin replies, feeling somewhat self-conscious. He’s terrible at socialising and to make things worse, Jongin and Lucas are the most attractive humans he’s seen with his own eyes. As much as he likes them already, they make him aware of his own shortcomings.

“Anyway, the rent is 900,000 won per month, excluding utilities. I was thinking of splitting it 60:40.”

“Okay.” It’s expensive, but not unexpected. He’s due to begin working for KPMG within the week anyway and his promised salary will be enough to cover the rent and utilities with more than enough left over for other expenditures.

“So, does that mean you’ll take it?” Lucas asks.

Taemin nods. “Yes, I’ll take it.”

Jongin breaks into a blinding smile.

⌘

The subway from Itaewon to Seoul station is not crowded at this time of the day; kids are still in school and most adults are still at work. Taemin has an entire row of seats to himself, so he doesn’t feel guilty about carrying so much luggage with him. As always, he keeps his eyes on his phone. There are demons in subway stations. Some of them seem to like taking public transport.

At Noksapyeong, a few passengers get on. There’s a couple of school girls in uniforms that would not pass the dress code. They walk to the end of the carriage and sit in the reserved seats.

There’s a man too, who sits on Taemin’s row of seats. Out of the corner of his eye, Taemin can see his leather shoes, which are meticulously shined. Though it’s not in him to be nosy, he takes a quick glance at the man. He’s wearing a suit that’s somewhere between purple and red. On anyone else, it might have looked ridiculous – it certainly would on Taemin himself – but it fits this man’s shoulders perfectly and just looks chic. He’s got a copy of the Financial Times in one hand.

Between Jongin and Lucas and now this man, Taemin has seen enough eye candy to last him for a lifetime.

As if he’s caught Taemin sneaking glances at him, the man turns towards Taemin and winks at him. Taemin looks away, not knowing how to react, and the man laughs quietly.

And then he says “Lee Taemin, it’s been a long time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! i'm back with a new fic, which is a little experimental because it's been a long time since i've had so many significant characters and also because i've not written some of them before. updates will probably be sporadic at best. wish me luck! 
> 
> happy 2020, 
> 
> sherleigh


	3. Two

**I’ll Be Right Behind You**

“Have we met?” Taemin asks, confused. Is this some long-lost school mate or perhaps someone who remembers him from university?

“Oh, a long time ago,” the man says cryptically. He leans back against seat and crosses his legs. “You owe me a lot of money.”

Taemin blinks. He’s sure now that he’s never met this man, because he’s never borrowed money from anyone. If it weren’t for the fact that the man called him by name, Taemin would have told him he’s mistaken him for someone else by now. “I don’t think so.”

“You were very young,” the man adds. “You took an antique music box – a very expensive antique music box – from my shop for your mother for Christmas. How is she doing, by the way?”

“She’s… she’s passed,” Taemin replies, feeling shaken. He recalls the music box amongst his mother’s artefacts that her landlord had given him, which is resting on the seat in between them. As much as the mention of Christmas presents rings a bell, something doesn’t add up. This man looks only a year or two older than Taemin, perhaps five at most, so how could he have had a shop when Taemin was a child?

Unless…

With dread filling his heart, Taemin asks “Are you a demon?”

“Yah, what kind of question is that?” The man’s voice goes up a notch and the girls in the corner turn to look at them. Their eyes land on the man first before flicking to Taemin and they don’t have that look on their face that people get whenever they see someone talking to thin air. It’s a relief, even though he’s managed to offend the man. “Do I have horns and a tail?”

“No.” Demons don’t usually have horns and a tail anyway, not like they’re depicted in Christian scripture.

“Then we can stop the name-calling, yes? How would you like it if I randomly called you an idiot or a… a turtle?”

Taemin can’t help it, he laughs. With his tendency to hide behind his music and phone, a turtle is an apt comparison. “Sorry.”

The man waves the apology off. “Anyway, as I was saying, you owe me for the music box. And looking at you, it doesn’t seem like you have money to pay me.”

The man’s presuming a lot, Taemin thinks. Even if Taemin were to agree that he got the music box from his shop, somehow – perhaps he meant a shop that he had inherited – there’s no way he can prove that Taemin took his music box. More than likely, the man had spotted the music box and is now attempting to scam him.

“So you can work for me instead.”

That’s both unexpected and unwelcome. “I’ve already got a job,” Taemin replies. “I have no interest in any other.”

“Next station, Itaewon.”

The notification rings through the subway car and Taemin gathers his things, glad to be able to escape.

“That’s very rude.” There’s a touch of ice to the man’s voice now and when Taemin looks at him, his eyes are cold. “But no matter, you’ll come around soon enough.”

⌘

The strange encounter leaves Taemin feeling unsettled.

Though he’s sure now that the man is just a human fraudster, his instincts won’t let him dismiss the encounter. It’s a struggle to roll his luggage and carry his stuff back to the flat, but his mind is stuck on the man instead of the task at hand. His mind keeps replaying the flicker in his eyes, the curve of his lips and the easy glide of his movements as he crossed one leg over the other.

Lost in thought and lazily confident that his short route will be safe, Taemin forgets to be careful.

He rounds a corner and finds himself eye to eye with a giant cat. It’s as tall as an SUV and twice as long and blacker than night. It blinks eight green eyes at him, ears perking up, and opens its maw to reveal long, cruel teeth. A man strides by it, barking instructions over his phone. The cat bats at him uselessly; he trips and looks around irritably, and ends up glaring at Taemin as if it was somehow his fault.

Taemin stands frozen, caught between his flight or fight instincts. If he runs, he’ll be chased, caught and eaten. If he doesn’t run, it looks like it’ll eat him anyway.

Slowly, he takes a step back. The cat yawns, but it keeps its eyes on him.

He breaks into a run.

Behind him comes scrape of claws against pavement.

A shrill whistle sounds.

A moment later, he comes crashing to the ground, a heavy weight on his back.

I’m dead, Taemin thinks, even as he rolls into a protective ball.

But the thing that touches him next is not sharp claws or teeth, it’s human hands wrenching his arms behind his back. “Sir, stop resisting,” a human voice says, as something cold and metallic locks over his wrists. “Calm down.”

“Huh?” Taemin says.

“Suspect apprehended,” says the same voice. Taemin looks over his shoulder and sees a police officer speaking into his police radio. Of the supernatural cat, there is no sign. “What’s in the bag?”

“Huh?”

The police officer pulls Taemin to his feet roughly. “The luggage, what’s in it?”

“My stuff?” It’s only then that it dawns on Taemin how suspicious it looks for a person to roll their luggage down a main street only to leave it and run away. The police officer probably thinks it’s a bomb. “It’s just… clothes and stuff.”

“And you decided to leave it in the middle of the road?”

Taemin shakes his head. “No, I just… I thought I saw a demon.”

The police officer looks at him incredulously. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“No. Demons are real. If you look around the corner, there’s a huge cat with eight eyes. That’s why I ran.” Taemin’s face heats up as he speaks, but it’s better that the officer thinks he’s mad than a terrorist. “I’m not lying. If you bring my luggage here, I can show you that it’s just my clothes.”

“Yeah, pull another one. I’m calling for back-up, you better not create more trouble.”

⌘

The sun is setting. The flat is empty. Taemin lugs his ransacked luggage and strip-searched body into his room and locks the door behind him. In the privacy of his room, he tucks his face into his knees and tries to make himself as small as possible.

It’s okay, he tells himself. The cat wasn’t there when he came back. He’s used to these one-off encounters. It’ll be okay.

⌘

Need drives him back on the streets.

This time, he’s careful. He’s got hymns playing through his earphones and his handphone firmly in hand, looking up the closest furniture shops. He wants to buy a mattress tonight and perhaps a kettle and some mugs too, since the kitchen is bare. If Jongin has cooking utensils, they must still be packed away, and even if Jongin happens to unpack them soon, Taemin doesn’t want to presume that he’s welcome to share.

Google Maps tells him that there is a mattress shop called Mr Mattress at the intersection of Bogwang-ro and Itaewon-ro-20-gil, so that’s where he heads.

Along the way, he stops by a bibimbap restaurant that fits the criteria of being reasonably priced and along the way. He’s just sat down at a table in the far corner when something flashes past the window and startles him.

As soon as it happens, Taemin curses himself.

Sure enough, the thing is a demon. This one takes a shape he has seen before, of a woman dressed in white, and it lingers outside the window as Taemin takes his phone out with trembling hands and tries to pretend that it isn’t there. It’s too late though; it knows he can see it, and that always makes demons linger.

Just then, the bells over the door jingle as some customers walk out. The demon slips in. Like all women-in-white demons, this one is grotesquely disfigured and dripping blood from various orifices.

Taemin closes his eyes and starts a prayer.

A clunk on the table. The scent of sesame oil and grilled meat fills the air. “Beef bibimbap,” says the waiter. “Do you want anything to drink?”

Taemin wants to disappear. “No,” he croaks, not daring to look up.

The waiter walks off and Taemin pulls the hot stone bowl closer to himself. The cutlery is in a plastic container and he struggles to pry the lid off without lifting his head to look at it.

“That’s pathetic.”

That voice.

Taemin looks up.

The man from the subway is there. He’s got his hands in his pockets, affecting nonchalance. Behind him, the demon leers at Taemin. Her mouth opens impossibly wide, revealing bloody, broken teeth.

“What, not even a hello?” The man drags a chair from a neighbouring table and sits beside Taemin. He opens the plastic container and takes out chopsticks and a spoon and holds them out. “Here you go.”

Taemin couldn’t care less about utensils or food or this ridiculous stalker at the moment. All he can see is the terrifying spectre approaching him.

The man sighs. “Get lost.”

You followed me, Taemin thinks indignantly, but the demon stops advancing. It’s then that Taemin notices that the man isn’t looking at him, but at the spot where the demon is.

As if he can see it.

“Yes, you, bugger off. He’s scared out of his fucking mind, I can’t talk to him like this.”

He can see the demon – the demon which has stopped advancing at his command. The former is hard enough to accept, the latter is incomprehensible. Taemin watches with disbelief as it drifts out of the door and away into the night without so much as a second glance at him. Never in his life has an encounter with a demon ended so benignly.

“You can see them,” he says, more to himself than the man. Never in his life has Taemin met anyone who can see demons, not until now.

“Duh.” The man waves the spoon in front of his face. “Are you going to take this or are you expecting me to feed you?”

Taemin takes the spoon, but he’s still reeling. “You saw that… that thing in white? With the bloody mouth?”

With a long-suffering sigh, the man replies “Yes, didn’t I just say so? How many times are you going to ask me this question?”

“You’re not scared?”

That makes the man snort. “That’s cute. Darling, nothing scares me. I’m the one that’s scary. Anyway, I’m not here to interrupt your dinner, or to talk about unrelated topics. I realised I forgot to give you something earlier.” He takes a slim leather case out of his pocket and extracts a card from it. “My name card. How will you contact me otherwise, right?”

What is Taemin supposed to say to that? He wants to talk to this man, he has so many questions that he can’t even decide what to ask first, but no matter what he has no intention of working for him.

“Well, that’s it for now. I’ll be waiting for your call. Oh, and you should order the shikhye here, it’s homemade.”

With those parting words of wisdom, he leaves.

Though he doesn’t care much for shikhye, Taemin orders it anyway. It’s ice cold, sweet and refreshing and it’s only when he drinks half the glass in one go that he realises how thirsty he is. Was it just a random remark or could the man tell? Has he felt it too, the way being frightened makes your mouth and throat dry up, or has he always been able to repel demons as easily as swatting bugs?

The card he left is weighty and embossed around the edge with a fine black line. Like everything else about him, it speaks of money and class. On the back, there is a phone number and email address. On the front, there is just one word: Key.

⌘

At 5am, Taemin gets a message from the number on Key’s card.

“Meet me at Gwacheon station immediately.”

What a presumptuous message. Had he not been awake, the buzzing of Taemin’s muted phone would have slipped past his attention until a far more reasonable hour. It’s only because he’s lain awake most of the night, his mind buzzing like a hive of angry bees, that he reads it as soon as it comes in.

A second one follows.

“Wear comfortable shoes.”

Taemin stares at the messages, torn. Key is someone whose existence he has been waiting, hoping, praying for; someone who can see the things he does too. Key’s existence proves one of his deepest fears untrue. All of the people who have called him crazy, from his classmates to psychiatrists his mother could barely afford to pay, they’re wrong.

It’s a pity that Key himself is a person who is best avoided. Everything about him seems shady, from the way he talks about debts and employment to the way he’s somehow obtained Taemin’s phone number and is now issuing demands for meetings even before the sun has come up.

If his mother were alive, she’d be able to tell him what to do.

No, that’s not true. If his mother were alive, he’d keep all of this a secret from her.

⌘

The gentle pink glow of sunrise greets Taemin when he gets off the train. The station and the streets around it are mostly empty. It’s too early for the office crowd and too late for the market people, so he’s free to stand by the entrance and admire the unusual sight for a moment.

That moment comes to a swift end. Key appears seemingly out of nowhere and beckons him closer. He’s wearing a neon green, grey and white hiking suit that’s precisely the sort of fashion Taemin hates. It’s pretending to be utilitarian when the design actually places aesthetics over practicality in every sense, and to top it off it probably costs far more than a less flashy, useful suit. As if that’s not offensive enough, the colour combination must have been made with a clown in mind. Yet, despite the outfit’s many shortcomings, Taemin can’t deny that Key looks good in it. This must be what people mean when they say that good genes will never fail you.

“You took your time,” is the first thing Key says when he gets within earshot. “It’s not a good look, being late for work on your first day.”

Though his words are harsh, his tone is not. Taemin is thrown off by the discrepancy until he realises that Key is teasing him.

“I told you, I’m not your employee.”

Key waves his denial off. “Let’s not waste time on pointless arguments.”

“Where are we going anyway?”

Key’s reply is to point to some unknown thing in front of them.

Taemin nearly replies with something rude, his already limited patience reaching its end, when he sees the mountains in the horizon and remembers Key’s message about comfortable shoes and puts two and two together. “The mountain?”

“Samseongsan mountain, specifically.” Key sets off, leading him away from the main road.

Falling in step behind him, Taemin wonders what sort of work can be done on a mountain that Key would want to pay him for. One answer that comes to mind is picking wild ginseng or yeongji mushrooms, but why would Key go through the pain of coercing him to do it when there must be plenty of people who would happily be employed to do the same? Another, more sinister, answer is that Key wants him to do something illegal, like trapping endangered wildlife. Even so, why him? There must be a black market where he can hire someone more appropriately qualified. It seems like every time he runs into Key, he’s left with even more questions than the last time.

The beginning of the hike is like a pleasant walk. The route starts by the university and the trail is a well-paved road. The city’s sound are audible, cars and the like, but hidden from view by trees and plants. There are various flowering plants in full bloom on either side, magnolias and pansies and the odd hibiscus. As Taemin admires the sight, he remembers his mother; did she ever get to see a flower path like this one? He prays that she had, that at least once when she was a student or when she was dating his father, she got to walk down a path that was just as pretty.

As the hike progresses, the paved road gives way to a dirt path, albeit well-trodden. Though it is not yet steep, it inclines at an angle that even the most athletic person would feel. Up and up they hike, in silence, as Taemin’s questions stew in his mind; Key hasn’t turned around even once to see whether he’s keeping up, and it’s perfectly clear that even if Taemin pushes ahead with his questions, he’s going to get cryptic non-answers at best.

So he trudges behind Key obediently until they reach the first look-out point. It’s the first level patch of ground in a while and Taemin stops to rest his legs and catch his breath. As he wheezes away like a pensioner, Key looks on impassively. As much as Taemin hates his face, he has to admit that Key’s stamina is impressive. It’s not at all what he’d expect from someone with Key’s slim, unmuscular build.

“There’s water in the bag.”

There’s four bottles of water, to be exact. Taemin cracks one open and drinks gratefully. “Do you want one?”

“Only silly humans get thirsty,” Key replies. “I’m above all that.”

Dread fills Taemin’s heart. So Key’s a demon too. What an idiot he has been, following him up a deserted mountain trail.

Key rolls his eyes. “God, it’s a joke. Ever heard one? I’m not as unfit as you, I’ll drink when I get thirsty.”

Taemin doesn’t consider himself unfit; he just isn’t used to hiking, that’s all. It’s a little mean of Key to play that kind of joke and to insult him on top of it, but he’s relieved nonetheless.

“You still haven’t told me why we’re here,” he says, hoisting the backpack once more.

“You’ll see,” Key answers. “Less talk, more walk!”

“So-”

“Yes.”

That’s rude. “You didn’t even hear the question.”

“You were going to ask me, for the third time I might add, whether I can see the things you do. The answer is yes; I can see whatever you see and probably more than that. Why don’t you take your time to process that and come up with a different question instead of asking me the same thing over and over again?”

Though said in an even tone, it’s a stiff rebuke. Taemin keeps his mouth shut after that.

Just before Taemin is about to ask for another break, Key stops abruptly. “Ah, we’re here.”

There’s nothing distinctive about ‘here’ that sets it apart from 50 metres before or 50 metres ahead. It’s just a badly maintained trail with a forest growing wild on either side. Taemin is willing to bet that no one has hiked up this way in at least a year.

Key steps off the path, into the vegetation, as if he’s acting perfectly normally. Taemin hesitates to follow him, because isn’t this how people get lost? Isn’t this how people get kidnapped by the Fae or Fair Folk? Would anyone even notice his absence? But even as Taemin runs through his laundry list of why this is a bad idea, he knows he’s going to do it anyway.

So follow Key he does, through the densely packed shrubbery. The ground is slippery with rotting leaves and it is impossible to avoid being scratched by branches sprouting in every direction. Key is just ahead of him, picking out a path of least resistance, and he doesn’t seem fazed at all.

Just a little way in, the forest gives way to a small clearing. Little stone shrines sit at compass points of the clearing, crumbling with age, joined by fraying rope so as to create a circle. Any hiker – any person – with the slightest bit of common sense would know better than to linger. Even Taemin, who will be the first person to admit that he’s not exactly a paragon of wisdom, knows that the best thing to do when chancing upon a site like this is to leave immediately and forget ever seeing it in the first place.

“This is it.”

Of course it is. “The shrines?”

“Look in the middle of the circle. What can you see?”

Taemin looks where Key points, to a spot at the centre of the clearing where the grass is a little less green than the rest. There seems to be some stones there too, as if there was once a fifth shrine there that has been worn away by the elements. “That stone?”

“Yep.” Key sighs then, and turns around to face him properly for the first time since the hike began. “Let’s find a place to sit for a while. There’s a lot I need to explain to you.”

A large tree becomes that place; there is just enough space between its roots for them to sit and its trunk is just wide enough for them both to lean comfortably against it. Taemin finishes the bottle of water he opened earlier and Key opens one too. There are snacks in the bag too, little strawberry cream rolls and convenience store sausages and seaweed chips.

He’s so hungry.

Key picks at the food and leaves plenty for him. It’s not generosity that he trusts, but Taemin makes the best of it all the same. He hasn’t felt hunger in a while, as if his body has forgotten how to be human since he received the news of his mother’s passing. The hike was the trigger it needed to reboot itself.

When the snacks are mostly eaten, Key brushes crumbs off his clothes and says “Right, time to make things clear. The reason you’re here, the reason why I’m employing you, is to retrieve something for me.”

“From the circle.”

“Yes. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that it’s an enchanted circle, any idiot can see that already, but what you don’t know is just how much enchantment has been put into it. When you step over the rope, you’ll find that the circle is a lot larger than it looks like now. It’ll be as wide as a rice field and that stone which you saw will be a proper shrine. Inside the shrine, there is a book. All you have to do is bring that book to me.”

“Because you can’t go inside the circle.”

A feral grin follows his statement. “Clever boy. It was made specifically to keep me out.”

“Wh-”

Key talks over him. “You don’t have to worry your pretty little head about the politics that led to that. The person who enchanted the circle is long dead and no one else knows or cares about a dusty old book anyway. And…” Key pulls his backpack over, digs an envelope out of it and opens it to show Taemin a wad of golden 50,000 won notes. “…this is what you’ll be paid for this task.”

It’s a fat wad of money. There must be at least a million won in there. “What’s the catch?”

⌘

Lord, be with me and grant me protection, Taemin prays.

Though it seems like God rarely listens to his prayers, that he’s managed to live this long despite the countless terrible demons he’s encountered must be the work of divine interference. Hopefully, that divinity will not desert him today.

He steps into the circle.

Just as Key said, the circle is much larger from the inside; as wide as a football field. The shrines no longer look like crumbling little structures, but tower over him like the battlements of a fortress. The rope looks thick and strong, unbreakable. The grass is tall and lush. Right in the middle of the circle stands a third shrine.

Clutching the amulet Key gave him, Taemin makes his way to it.

The doors of the shrine are latched and tied with rope in a complicated knot that looks impossible to untangle. Fortunately, Key has given him a knife to cut through it. It gives way under the knife easily, confirming Taemin’s suspicion that the knife is enchanted in some way.

“Be careful!” Key is as close to the rope barrier as he can get without actually touching it, as if he’s a helicopter parent at a soccer game.

The next step is to enter the shrine. Taemin puts a hand on the latch, to pull the door open, and immediately feels a surge of dark, demonic energy far stronger than he’s ever felt before. It’s almost as if the door itself is alive. And angry. He draws his hand back, wondering once more why he was mad enough to agree to Key’s plan. He has never gone looking for demons in his entire life, so why should that change now?

But even as he questions himself, the answer is clear.

Because things have to change.

He’s sick of living in fear. He wants to be like Key, to no longer fear demons.

Taemin yanks the doors open, ducking as he does so, just like Key instructed him to. The demon bursts out right over his crouched form with as much noise and agitation as a train. Taemin darts into the empty, unprotected shrine.

Inside, it’s no larger than a cupboard. There are talismans covering the walls – he’s not concerned with them – and on the floor there’s the book Key wants. It’s surrounded by a pile of heavy iron chains, which Taemin realises is the sound that he thought the demon was making; it’s clanking.

Because it’s moving.

Taemin realises this just in time for him to notice that the clanking is rapidly becoming louder.

The demon is hurtling back into the shrine. Taemin holds out the amulet he almost forgot about, hoping that it will work like Key explained. There is a flash of light and a thousand screams and the demon flees the shrine once more, clanking away as the chains in the shrine unwind like an endless snake.

“Stop gawking you fool! It’s coming back!”

The demon shrieks again at the sound of Key’s voice. Taemin grabs the book, made reckless by the urgency in Key’s voice, and nearly has his arm trapped in the coiling mass of chains. But he has it and then he’s vaulting out of the shrine with strength he never knew he could muster.

The demon shrieks a third time and Taemin starts running. Key is shouting something from the sidelines, but all Taemin hears is the frantic thumping of his own heart, the rustling of grass under his feet and, most of all, that damned rattling of chains.

And then it stops.

He keeps running, though, until Key waves his arms at him. “Hey, look! Look behind you!”

Taemin slows his pace to a canter and looks over his back cautiously. The demon is trashing and flailing in the air, but the chain connecting the demon and the shrine is stretched taut. It’s fettered and Taemin is free and out of its reach.

He’s escaped.

Key whoops. “You did it! You crazy fucker, you actually did it!”

He really did. Taemin feels his lips stretch into a smile as he finally stops running. It feels so good to figure out how to defeat a demon. Key is smiling too, as bright as the sun.

Taemin nods at Key. There’s just one step left, according to Key’s infallible instructions, and he’s determined to carry it out properly. He turns, ready, and for the first time, gets a proper look at the demon.

⌘

_“The guardian of the shrine is a powerful forest spirit. It’s been trapped inside there for ages, and it’s had centuries to feed its hate and anger against the humans that bound it there.”_

_When are demons not angry, Taemin wonders. To Key, he just says “Okay.”_

_“His form will probably have been distorted by hate into something ugly and dangerous, like a perversion of something in nature. If it’s a plant based form, it might have branches full of thorns or if it’s an animal, expect teeth and claws. Whatever it is, if it manages to catch you, you’re dead.”_

_That too, Taemin knows._

_“The amulet will protect you to some extent, but you’ll need to be fast.”_

⌘

The demon’s rotund body is peppered with shifting protuberances. At first, Taemin thinks that they are boils, swelling and popping, but he looks closely and realises that they’re eyes; a thousand inhuman eyes, blinking open and shut out of sync. Interspersed between them are cruel, curved beaks. Two wings, small and delicate and wholly incongruent with the rest of the demon’s hideous form, flap uselessly on either side. Key had guessed that the demon would take a plant or animal form, but it’s chosen a bird form.

The book feels alive in his hands. Taemin flips it open to a random page and says the incantation taught him.

“One who would serve me, show me your name.”

The pages of the book move on their own, flipping back and forth like paper wings until the book falls open on a different page. Taemin blinks at the pattern scrawled there, but this too Key has prepared him for. It doesn’t matter that the writing is incomprehensible, as long as the page exists, he’ll be able to command the demon.

Time for the second incantation. Key had explained that it is a spell to bind the demon to the shrine once more.

“One who is named, I command-”

The demon interrupts him with another shriek. Now that he’s paying attention, Taemin sees that the demon’s shrieks are so loud because it has hundreds of mouths to shriek with. He supposes that he doesn’t have to be heard for the incantation and starts again.

“Pity!”

Taemin stops. That sounded like a word.

All of the demon’s eyes are fixed on him, imploring. A multitude of voices spill from its beaks like the chirping of a whole flock of birds.

“Master.” The beaks move. Instead of the meaningless shrieks he’s heard before, Taemin finds that the demon is speaking to him in a language he can understand. “Kind master, cage not. Pity.”

He pauses. Though disjointed, the meaning of the words is not difficult to decipher; the demon clearly does not want to be bound in the shrine again.

“What are you waiting for? Get on with it!”

He should. No demon has ever shown him an ounce of pity or kindness or consideration. They’re all full of hate and tricks. It’s best to have this one locked away where it cannot torment him with its ugly boil-eyes.

And yet, Taemin hesitates. Key said that centuries of captivity would have turned a forest spirit into an angry, ugly perversion. This demon is mostly a perversion, but its wings are no different from the wings of the magpies that his mother used to give leftover rice to. When it’s not shrieking, its voice is not any more unpleasant than the chirping of an entire flock of birds.

He closes the book.

“What the hell are you playing at?” Key’s good mood has evaporated.

Taemin walks up to the rope dividing them to reason with him. “We’ve got the book,” he says. “Can’t we just leave? Why does it need to be inside the shrine when there’s nothing for it to guard anymore?”

“You’re so stupid,” Key hisses. “That spirit is bound not just to the shrine, but to protect this book. Sure, let’s just walk away with the book. What do you think is going to happen when the spirit manages to get free from the chains?”

“Can’t we release the other binding too?”

“No.” Key shakes his head as if he’s disappointed with Taemin; he probably is. And then he sighs heavily. “The spell to create a guardian is simple, pretty standard stuff. But the spell binding it to the book is powerful magic. I don’t understand it myself. I can’t tell you how to break it without releasing the spirit from servitude entirely.”

“That should be okay too?” Taemin can’t see why that would be a bad outcome. He doesn’t say ‘no bird should be trapped in a cage for many human lifespans’. He doesn’t say ‘it’s cruel to keep it trapped there for no reason’. He doesn’t say ‘don’t make me hurt it like that.’

Key falls silent, but it’s not a hostile silence. He looks lost in thought, so Taemin gives him the time he needs. Finally, he says “Okay. There’s a spell you’ll have to learn.”

⌘

The demon resumes its’ begging when Taemin returns. “Kind master,” it chirps “pity, pity.”

Though Taemin is sure that if he didn’t have the book, if he didn’t have the ability to command this demon, it wouldn’t be treating him with half the kindness it’s demanding, he can’t help feeling sorry for it.

The chirping grows increasingly frantic as he calls its name once more. This time, when the page is revealed to him, Taemin rips it out of the book. Following Key’s instructions, he folds it in half and puts it in his mouth, allowing his saliva to wet through the page. His eyes fall shut as he inhales and then, visualising the bonds being broken, he exhales. He can feel it, the way the ties binding the demon drift off the page and disappear into thin air. There is a flash and Taemin gasps, feeling all of the air leave his lungs. He hits the ground, depleted, and scrambles backwards; something must have gone wrong, because it feels like the spell is sucking all of the life out of him.

“Gratitude!”

The voice that said the word sounds nothing like before; it’s sweet and light, like the trilling call of a magpie. Taemin is busy inhaling air as if he’s just come up from a long dive, but he finds the strength to look up. The demon looks nothing like it did earlier; all that is left of the ball of roiling eyes and beaks is a large bird. It flies over him, circling him as it tweets its thanks.

“Gratitude! Bird-father remembers. Gratitude always.”

Before Taemin can think of a response, it flies away and disappears into the thick forest beyond the circle.

⌘

Key stands impassive as Taemin hauls himself over the rope and doesn’t even offer him a hand when he trips over it and nearly falls.

“Can you walk?” is all he asks.

Taemin is too elated to care about Key’s rudeness. “Yeah.”

“That’s a side-effect of releasing a bond. It drains you. A bit of rest and food and you’ll be fine.”

“I can walk,” Taemin confirms. He holds the book out to Key. “Here.”

Key ignores him and the book to pick up the backpack, which he shoulders. “Later.”

Behind his back, Taemin hides as smile. He understands Key a little better than he did this morning, he thinks. He hugs the book to his chest and takes one last look at the clearing; now that he’s on the other side of the ropes, it looks small and forgotten once more. Perhaps, now that the enchantment on the shrine has been released, it will decompose like it should.

⌘

Getting down the mountain is a race against the sun. Though it feels like he spent no more than an hour in the clearing, the entire day has passed by.

Taemin remembers Key’s admonishment to him on their way up; finally, he has questions to ask him that aren’t just a variation of ‘can you see what I see’. He isn’t sure how many of them Key will be willing to answer, but he will ask anyway.

“So… is this a book of demons’ names? How did you find out about it? And-”

Key doesn’t even turn around. “Not now.”

“Then-”

“When I say so.”

The dismissal stings, but Taemin is still not disheartened. How could he be, when he freed a trapped demon and had it thank him? He’s not stupid to think that Key will let him have the book, but Key was able to banish the demon from the bibimbap restaurant yesterday without the book; he’s learnt 3 spells already today, he can learn that one too.

Key leads him back to Gwacheon station. The sky is pink once more, this time with the fading rays of the setting sun. At the entrance, where office-workers and students brush past them impatiently, Key finally deigns to look at Taemin.

“Go home.”

“Huh?”

“You can go home.”

The sudden hostility in Key’s voice and expression surprises Taemin. He doesn’t know where it came from or how to respond to it. His hand trembles as he extends the book to Key.

“Keep it.”

Taken aback, Taemin just blinks. Key dragged him all the way up the mountain, taught him spells and had him brave a demonic guardian for the sake of this book, so why doesn’t he want it anymore? As he stands there, stunned, Key tries to walk off.

Taemin grabs his sleeve. “Wait, what do you mean? Don’t you want this?”

Key doesn’t answer him.

“Why don’t you want to take it?” As Taemin asks the question, an answer occurs to him. “Is it dangerous?”

“What do you think?”

With a sinking heart, Taemin considers Key’s question. “But we released the guardian… who else is after this book? Are there other demons after it? Will they come after me?”

“Don’t they already?”

“I’ll throw it away.”

Key calls him out on his bluff even before he realises that he’s bluffing. “Sure.”

⌘

Taemin takes a long time to decide what to do. He considers spending the night in a church or shrine, but he doesn’t know where the nearest ones are, and even if he did find one, demons tend to congregate around them anyway. If he goes home, they might follow him there. If he stays out and wanders around, that’s practically asking to run into a demon.   
  


In the end, he takes the subway back to Itaweon. If he’s going to be attacked, he might as well be comfortable first. His t-shirt is tacky with sweat and his jeans are dirty with mud and grass; he could do with a shower and clean clothes.

This time, Taemin doesn’t dare distract himself with his phone and music. He keeps a wary eye on the passengers entering the train at each stop, but they’re all human enough.

The short walk between the station and his flat is terrifying. Taemin keeps the book pressed to his chest and covered with his arms as much as he can in a futile attempt to keep it hidden from view. Every shadow, every corner that he has to turn, now feels like a trap.

So wary is he that he jumps and nearly starts running when he hears a lady’s voice call out “Half-price kimbap!” It takes a moment before the words sink in and his flight response settles down.

She must have noticed his reaction, because she waves at him. “Oh, young man, come here! Everything is half-price, it’s a good deal. I have regular kimbap and tuna kimbap, ham kimbap.”

His stomach growls, reminding him that he’s not had anything to eat all day except for the snacks he’d shared with Key in the morning. Now that he’s aware of it, he’s so hungry that it feels like his stomach is coiling into knots like the iron chains in the shrine.

He buys two rolls from the lady and she throws in a free can of Demi-Soda, with an admonishment to eat more. “Aigoo,” she coos when Taemin turns down her request to buy a third roll. “Young men like you need to be strong. Your mother must worry a lot, so eat more and be healthy.”

If she were alive, his mother would be worried. Perhaps it’s a mercy that she’s free of his troublesome self.

⌘

Taemin lets his guard down a little once he’s locked the flat door behind himself. The lights in the living room are off, save for a small salt lamp on the floor by the entry. The window is obscured by curtains; Jongin must have put them in today. The promised table and couch have also been put in. It’s nice of Jongin to have left the lamp on for him. He should buy something for the house too, perhaps some pillows for the couch or a painting.

He heads to the back of the flat to put his food away and take that long-awaited bath, and cracks open the Demi-Soda on the way. It’s lemon-flavoured, which he dislikes, but he’s so thirsty that he drinks it anyway.

Without thinking, he flips the kitchen lights on.

The room fills with light and reveals the demon hidden there. It’s got grass on its head and multiple limbs and is making a strange gurgling sound.

Taemin yelps, startled, and drops his soda; it clatters on the floor loudly and spills its contents everywhere.

The demon reacts to his presence.

“Oh, fuck.”

The human voice brings Taemin back to his senses. The grass-haired, many-limbed demon is not in fact a demon but his flatmates, both green-haired, entangled together in a lustful embrace. At least their clothes are still on. Jongin pushes Lucas away from himself, which causes the latter to frown.

“Sorry,” Taemin says, feeling discombobulated. His legs are weak from the sudden scare and hunger and though he has no prejudice against gay people, he also has no idea how to react to catching one’s flatmates making out in a darkened kitchen. “Sorry, I’ll just-”

Flee.

That’s what he always does.

Taemin goes to his room, kimbap in one hand and the book in the other; he’ll just hide here until Jongin and Lucas go back to their room. By morning, he’ll have a proper apology articulated.

But as he’s closing his door, Jongin’s there to push it open. “Hey, we need to talk.”

Those dreaded words. Is he being kicked out a day into his lease? That would be a record, even for him.

“Look, I… Lucas and I are together and if that’s going to be a problem-”

“No, no, it’s not,” Taemin hastily says. “I knew, I mean the couple hair, right? You guys are cute together, it’s not that, I was just surprised.”

“Ah.” Jongin looks embarrassed too. “Did you want to get something from the kitchen? Don’t worry about the soda, Lucas is cleaning it up.”

What an impression to make. Taemin does want to shower, but he’s caused enough trouble for them already. “Ah, no, I’m fine.”

“Sure?” Jongin looks at his hands. “Don’t you want a plate for that?”

Taemin shakes his head. “It’s just kimbap. Really, I’m fine. I’m sorry about the mess.”

“That’s probably our fault.” Jongin shrugs. “Well, if you’re sure. Goodnight. Oh, can you give me the rent in a couple of days? I’ve paid the landlord already.”

“Okay, I will. Thank you,” Taemin replies, feeling his legs weaken again. He didn’t take the money from Key. He just walked away with the book and Key let him. Key is probably laughing at him right now.

Taemin sits in despair in his dark room. He’s lost any appetite he had, along with any ounce of happiness he got out of the encounter with the bird-demon.

His life will always be miserable.

XXXXX

_new chapter up :)_

_as always, i look forward to any comments you guys might have._

_happy reading,_

_sherleigh_


	4. Three

**My Destiny is You**

It’s the noise that wakes him. The rush of cars, the louder rumbling of lorries and the musical honk of scooters seep into his consciousness, reminding him that he exists and that the rest of the world is busy living a new day.

Now that he’s more awake, he can hear sounds from inside the house too. There’s the sound of water running for a bit and footsteps against the wooden flooring as Jongin and Lucas go about their day; their noises, the evidence of them living, makes Taemin just a little less lonely.

It’s as good a time as any to wake up, so Taemin slides his achy body off the mattress and searches for something decent to wear, finally deciding on sweats and a t-shirt. The kimbap he lost his appetite for emits a faint smell of stale rice and tuna and more than anything else, than prompts Taemin to leave the room and begin his day.

On the way to the kitchen – to dispose of the no doubt spoilt kimbap – Taemin runs into Jongin, who is struggling with a small washing machine. “Ah, Taemin-ah, help me?”

“Sure!” Taemin drops the plastic bag and runs over to take a corner of washing machine, and together they crab-walk to the bathroom. Jongin is wearing a black tank top which exposes his arms; of course, they’re not only toned but muscular too, flexing under the weight of the washing machine, and Taemin’s mouth goes dry. He’s taken, Taemin reminds himself as he averts his eyes, and even if he weren’t, there’s no chance that someone as handsome as Jongin would be attracted to his strange, neurotic self. “You should have woken me up to help.”

Jongin shrugs. “You looked kind of wiped out last night, I figured I’d manage. Ah, we’ll put it down here.”

Here is the corner of the kitchen that’s next to the bathroom, right next to a socket that Jongin plugs the machine into. “It’s a mini one, so you’ll have to fill it with water manually.”

“Oh.”

“You’re free to use it whenever. And anything else too, like…” Jongin looks around the kitchen “… like the plates and the coffee machine. Hey, do you want coffee?”

Taemin has nothing to offer in return, but he also has no reason to turn down Jongin’s offer. His stomach is also awake now, rumbling quietly as it demands to be fed. “Okay.”

“Coming up.” Jongin grabs three mugs out of an overhead cabinet and Taemin remembers Lucas. Is he still asleep? Why didn’t Jongin ask his boyfriend to help with the washing machine? But as curious as he is, he also knows that it is not his place to question the dynamics of their relationship. Out of a cabinet, Jongin takes out a little coffee machine and a bag of ground coffee that fills the kitchen with the heady scent of a café. “Hey, you don’t mind if we leave the coffee machine on the counter, right?”

Is that even a thing to dislike? “No.”

“I figured,” Jongin says as he spoons coffee into the machine. “But my last flatmate was such an arse, you know?”

“Oh.” Taemin wishes he could add something more to the conversation than single-word replies.

Jongin doesn’t seem to mind. “Milk? Sugar? I should be drinking it black, but it’s so bitter that way, even with the expensive blends. Staying in shape is so hard.”

A little milk and sugar won’t hurt someone with Jongin’s flawless physique, Taemin thinks, but he keeps that thought to himself. Jongin’s comment about dieting wasn’t an invitation to rate his body and he shouldn’t have to feel like he’s being ogled in his own home.

⌘

_House parties are overrated._

_British people are difficult enough to understand as it is, but get some alcohol into them and they become completely incomprehensible. Sometimes Taemin can’t tell whether they’re speaking in English or in tongues. He should have insisted in his interview with KPMG that he wanted to study in the US instead; if he had, he wouldn’t be trapped here in a party that his three Korean housemates had insisted on hosting._

_When the drunken crowd and music becomes unbearable, Taemin takes a bottle of cheap, watery beer and sits on the stairs that leads up to his room. His housemates are all women and he feels obligated to stay up until the party is over for reasons he can’t articulate even to himself, but that doesn’t mean that he needs to mingle with a bunch of people he’s never met before and will probably never meet again._

_“Hi!”_

_The greeting comes from a guy Jung Mi had introduced to him earlier; his name is Paul and he’s studying dentistry with her. If he recalls correctly, Jung Mi had mentioned being interested in him in a conversation with Young Sook that he happened to overhear._

_Paul stumbles up the stairs and sits down next to him. “You don’t mind right?” he asks. Taemin does mind having to smell the terrible concoction of sweat and beer emanating from him, but it might be nice to have a conversation for a while._

_“No.”_

_“Cool, cool.” Paul takes a swig from his own bottle of beer. “So where’re you from?”_

_Is it not obvious, Taemin wonders. “Korea.”_

_“Ah, like Jummi. Do you know her? What are you studying?”_

_“Accounting,” Taemin replies, deciding not to bother answering whether he knows his own housemate. Paul seems to have forgotten being introduced to him earlier. “What about you?”_

_“Your accent is so cute,” Paul says, reaching out to pinch his cheek as if he’s a child. Taemin flinches at the contact and Paul ends up petting his face instead. He hates how thick his English sounds and he hates being patronised like this. “Are you having a good time in the UK?” Paul’s hand falls from his face to his knee. “Not too gloomy for you?”_

_How to remove his hand without offending him? Paul’s drunk, overbearing, touchy-feely presence would fit right into Itaewon’s clubbing scene, so in some ways it feels very much the same as Seoul. “The food is a little bland,” Taemin replies, trying to shift his knee away._

_Paul’s grip tightens as he laughs, as if Taemin’s told the funniest joke he’s ever heard. The hand travels up his thigh, squeezing, and Taemin’s skin crawls. “Sure, the food’s bland, but the people are plenty spicy, though. I’d love to show a pretty girl like you how interesting we can be.”_

_“I’m not a girl!” Taemin snaps, shoving Paul’s hand away and standing up. “And no girl would ever fall for that shitty pick-up line anyway,” he adds in Korean._

_Paul shrugs, not even slightly apologetic. “Well, you look like one. I don’t mind if you don’t.”_

_“Fuck off.”_

⌘

Just then, there comes the sound of the door opening and a voice calls out “Jongin-hyung, I’m back!”

The smile that breaks across Jongin’s face is so tender and radiant, though he shakes his head and says “He’s always so loud.”

A second later, Lucas peers into the kitchen, clutching paper bags in both hands. “Oh,” he says when he sees Taemin. Taemin nods at him, unsure of what else to say, and from Lucas’ stiff nod, he’s not the only one who’s finding the situation awkward.

Luckily, Jongin is there to rescue them. “Did you manage to get the steamed buns I asked for?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Lucas hands one of the bags to Jongin. “Here, enjoy eating your fake buns.”

“They’re not fake,” Jongin argues “just adjusted for local tastes.”

“Bastardised is the word you’re looking for.”

Taemin has no idea what they’re talking about, but their good-natured bickering is heartwarming. It fills the flat with human presence and it’s plain to see that they’re in love. Though he’s not a part of their relationship, it makes him feel less lonely.

“Want one?” Jongin asks, holding out the bag to Taemin.

This offer, he turns down. It’s one thing to take coffee from a full pot and another thing entirely to take food which must have been bought for one person only. Jongin probably feels obligated to offer it to him because he’s standing here. “It’s okay, I want to shower first.” To stop Jongin from insisting, Taemin adds “Oh, can you text me your bank account number? I’ll transfer the money today.”

“Sure.”

And even though he doesn’t have the money to pay for it right now, Taemin asks about the deposit anyway. “Also, how much is the deposit? We’ll split that 60:40 too right?”

“Ah,” says Lucas.   
  


“Ah?” Jongin echoes.

Lucas glances at Taemin – a glance full of displeasure – before pulling a wide-eyed, innocent face at Jongin. “Hyung, you know how much I love you right?”

Jongin crosses his arms. “I told you not to get me anything-”

“I didn’t!”

“This is worse! How much did the deposit cost? I told you so many times you’ve done more than enough. The landlord wouldn’t even have considered renting to me if you weren’t there to throw your family name around-”

“It wasn’t expensive, really-”

“Bullshit.”

This time, their argument is real. Taemin backs out of the kitchen, regretting his thoughtless decision to ask about the deposit. This is why it’s best for him keep his mouth shut unless he absolutely has to.

⌘

There are some messages on his phone.

Taemin can’t recognise the number they’re from and absent-mindedly opens them as he towels his hair dry, only to realise that they’re from Key. If he had known, he’d have deleted them right away and blocked the damn number too.

_Come to 34 Hoenamu-ro 6-gil._

_Bring the book._

_You forgot to collect your payment._

The last message makes him pause. He doesn’t know what to make of it, and of Key. Is Key toying with him, dangling the promise of money in order to make him do dangerous and ridiculous things for his own amusement? Is he genuinely concerned that Taemin hasn’t collected his payment? If so, what happened yesterday to make him react like that?

One last chance, Taemin tells himself. He’ll give Key one last chance.

⌘

This is an older part of Itaewon, still untouched by the affluence that has spread through its centre. The houses in the background have peeling paint and old-fashioned wood-slat windows and anchovies drying in the sun. The main street has shop fronts that haven’t been renovated since the 80s at least. He walks past a hairdresser still displaying photos of Phillip Rhee, Cho Eun Hee and trot singers and a shop selling banchan before he finds the specific address Key sent him.

It’s an antique shop.

Though he doesn’t remember walking down this specific street, it feels familiar. This face of Itaewon is the one he sees in his memories, especially some of the earlier ones.

The windows of the antique shop are dusty and darkened. Taemin peers inside, wondering whether there was a mistake in the message because it seems like the shop is abandoned.

But as he stands there wondering whether he should send Key a message clarifying the address, a man comes to a stop outside the same shop. He’s young, around Taemin’s age, and looks nothing like the target demographic of the shop – not that Taemin would know what the target demographic of aging antique shops are – and he’s well-dressed in the style that is in vogue with the Itaewon crowd these days. His jeans fit snugly around sturdy thighs and his thick, blazing white t-shirt is stretched tightly over a solid chest. The most lethal part of his outfit is what is missing: his sleeves. His arms are well built, better than even Jongin’s, and the cut-outs of his sleeves are so wide that Taemin can see his delts too.

No wonder Itaewon is so popular with the gays. It’s been only a couple of days that he’s moved back and he’s already seen more eye candy in those few days than he ever has before.

The man glances at him and Taemin quickly averts his gaze back to the shop. Is this man here to see Key too?

Is he like Taemin? As soon as the thought occurs to Taemin, he dismisses it. The man looks so well-adjusted and normal. Then again, Key does too; his oddity, if it can be called that, comes from how abrasive he is, but that too takes confidence of the sort Taemin only dreams of having. Taemin has always assumed that he’s the loser that he is today because of his handicap; if this man is indeed the same as him, it would prove that assumption wrong.

As Taemin ponders the issue, the man looks down at his watch, sighs and raps loudly on the door.

Why didn’t he think of that?

He might as well confirm the address with this man who looks far less intimidating than Key. “Sorry, are you here to meet Key?”

The man’s eyes, which are already large for a Korean person, widen as if he’s a character in badly-drawn manga. “You can see me?” he asks.

His reaction shocks Taemin; he staggers backwards, away from the thing he had assumed was a man. What has he gotten himself into?

Just as he’s about to bolt, the door swings open and Key leans out. “Who the hell- oh, Christ. You,” he stares at the man and points at Taemin “nearly scared him off. Do you know how hard it was to find him? Who asked you to drop by without an appointment?”

“I didn’t mean to!” the man – demon – protests. Taemin’s panic ebbs away; Key’s unbothered presence and the demon’s strangely non-hostile demeanour aren’t fuel to keep the flames of his fear alight. “He scared me!”

Key ignores the demon’s whining to hold the door open. “Get in,” he says to Taemin.

“Kibum-ah,” the demon whines and Key sighs. “Ugh, fine.”

The inside of the shop is a mess. The first thing that Taemin notices is the heaviness of the air, stagnant, and the smell of years and years of dust. It’s small and every bit of space is stacked with items that might have some value had they been cared for. He spots a beautifully carved dresser, but the wood is chipped in places and it is being used to store a variety of copper pots, now blackened with age, mismatched ceramics and old biscuit tins. There appears to be no system of organisation.

“Stop ogling things and come this way.” Key leads him towards the back of the shop, where a door lies ajar. “In there.”

Taemin becomes uneasy once more when he realises that there is a demon behind him and Key in front, and they’re expecting him to enter a room with no visible exit. The antique shop looks abandoned and the street is on barely has any foot traffic. He’s walking into a trap.

His hesitation irritates Key. “For fuck’s sake, I can hear you thinking. That’s my office, no one’s trying to kill you, can you not be so on edge all of the time?”

“You can hear me think?”

“It’s a figure of speech, dumbass.”

The demon snickers. Fair enough, Taemin probably walked into that one.

Key’s office feels like a different world from the antique shop. All of the words Taemin had used to describe the locality earlier – dated, tired, old – none of them can be used against Key’s office.

It’s so much wider than the entire shop looked from the outside and so well-lit too. In comparison with the antiques portion, it’s spacious; the walls are bare redbrick and floors are pale wood and there is absolutely no clutter in sight. It looks more modern than his flat, so Key must have renovated it very recently or he must have an excellent sense of interior design. Either way, Taemin is impressed.

The far left corner is a kitchen or lab of some sort, with shelves holding glass bottles of different shapes and sizes. There’s a kitchen island, a sink and stovetops, herbs in bunches and an honest to goodness cauldron.

The middle of the office is dominated by a desk setup that wouldn’t be out of place in the Silicon Valley. There’s a MacBook in the middle, flanked by little speakers, a succulent and a few files arranged in tray.

In the far right, there is what appears to be a conference room. There’s a small round table and a couple of those oddly-shaped chairs that Ikea made fashionable some years ago. A window opens out into a backyard.

It doesn’t seem like the sort of place people are killed in.

“Nice, right?” There’s a touch of pride in Key’s voice.

“Yeah.”

“Wait for me there, I shouldn’t take long,” Key tells him, pointing towards the conference room.

There are magazines in a little bookshelf and some glossy photobooks about zen gardening on the table. It feels like being in a dentist’s office or a fintech startup. Taemin still has no idea what is it Key does when he’s not stalking him or coercing him to battle demons, but whatever it is, it seems to pay well.

Key and the demon speak in low voices and Taemin can’t hear anything from here, so he just observes their body language instead. More than Key, he finds the demon interesting. The way it behaves is so human, unlike every other demon he has encountered. Everything, from its short height to the way its hair is a shade of platinum blonde rather than plain white the way other demons sometimes take form, is so very human.

Why couldn’t he have met demons like this when he was a child, instead of the monsters that he did?

But even as he asks himself the question, the answer comes to him. Perhaps he has. How would he know? Perhaps he’s walked past this very demon in the street; he would have assumed that it was human and it wouldn’t have been paying him any attention anyway, just like it didn’t earlier. Who knows how many demons he’s walked past just like this one?

The conversation doesn’t last very long before they shake hands and break apart. The demon heads for the exit, but spots him on the way out and comes over instead. And for the first time in his life, Taemin isn’t afraid at the sight of a demon walking towards him.

“Hey,” it says when it’s within earshot. “Come on, let’s go.”

Taemin’s heart skips a beat. Perhaps he let his guard down too easily. Did Key sell him to this demon? “Huh?”

“Yah, what are you doing?” Key follows close on the demon’s heels, frowning.

“You shouldn’t be bullying children,” the demon answers Key. Turning to Taemin, it says “Shouldn’t you be in school? I’ll walk you there, don’t worry.”

“He’s my accountant,” Key replies to the demon.

“Pull another one.”

“He’s right,” Taemin pipes up. “I am an accountant. I graduated from LSE.”

“Really?” The demon looks surprised, before schooling its expression into something more neutral. “Uh, sorry for assuming. Take it as a compliment, I guess? You look very young.”

Taemin’s not offended at all. He’s bemused by the idea of a demon trying to protect him from a fellow human. “Thank you,” he says, and then, because he really can’t believe it, he asks “Are you really a demon?”

“Excuse me?”

“Yah, you can’t just run around calling people demons,” Key admonishes. To the demon – or whatever it calls itself – Key says “He called me a demon too, don’t take it personally.”

“Ah.” The not-demon thing shrugs. “Well, it’s not like they teach this in LSE. If you’re free I’m quite happy to-”

“You may be free but I’m not,” Key snaps. “I need to talk to him and I haven’t got all day. Scram.”

“Wait! What should I… how should I refer to you?” It’s the least he can do for the thing that was looking out for his wellbeing, to call it by its proper name.

It smiles at him, full of warmth. “You can call me Jonghyun.”

“Jonghyun?”

“Jonghyunnie works too.” Its smile grows wider.

“Oh my God,” Key mutters. “Stop flirting and go.”

Once Jonghyun has left, Key takes a seat across Taemin. “Okay, first things first. Did you bring the book?”

Taemin did; it’s in his backpack. “Yeah, it’s here.”

Key slides an envelope across the table. “This is your money. I overlooked it yesterday, I wasn’t intentionally keeping it from you.”

That unintentional error gave Taemin a restless night, but he doesn’t mention it. He’s grateful to be receiving the money at all at this point.

“There’s a lot I need to explain to you.” Key’s demeanour has changed, Taemin notices. He’s less cocky, more serious, and Taemin realises that Key is one of those people who wear many faces and that so far, he’s only seen one of them. “I’m sure you’d have guessed by now what this book is, or what it can do.”

Though Taemin hasn’t given it much thought, he has some idea. “It’s a book of demons. And you can use it to command them?”

“Precisely. It’s their names, to be precise. If you know a spirit’s real name, you can harness its power to serve you or free it or destroy it. Whoever owns the book arguably owns the most powerful weapon in the world. And right now, that person is you.”

“I don’t want it,” Taemin replies. He understands well enough the power Key is describing, but he’s not at all power-hungry.

Key sighs. “You became its owner because you broke the spell that kept it in the shrine. The last person to own it was the person who bound it there, and he died a long time ago. The only way for ownership to pass is death.”

“But…” Key’s explanation doesn’t make sense. If he knew this already, why did he ask Taemin to take it out of the shrine? Unless-

-Taemin’s blood runs cold.

Unless Key was planning to kill him.

That realisation must have shown on his face, because Key sighs once more. “Yeah, I’ll admit that I didn’t have nice things planned for you yesterday. But I’ve changed my mind now.”

He was so close to death, and he didn’t even know.

“So what happens now?”

Key shrugs. “I can’t tell with certainty. People will realise that the spell has been broken soon enough and when they do they’re going to come looking for the book. I imagine most of them, human or not, will be perfectly happy to kill you to get it.

“So no matter what happens, I’m going to die?” It’s so unfair, but when has life ever been fair to him?

“That’s why I’m making you a genuine offer: work for me. I wasn’t lying when I told Jjong that I need an accountant and more than that, I need a PA. I know you’ve got a job lined up, I’ll match whatever they’re paying you. If you stick with me, people will assume that I’m the owner of the book, because they wouldn’t expect anyone to be stupid enough to let you live. In exchange, you can command spirits for me.”

Key’s offer sounds logical, but Taemin doesn’t know what to make of it. “I need-”

“Time? I know, it’s not the sort of decision you can make easily. Take a couple of days to think about it and come back here to let me know what you’ve decided.”

⌘

The Cosmo Mart on Bongwang-ro 59-gil, just a stone’s throw from Itaewon station, is his first stop. Taemin piles his cart high with instant ramyeon, kimchi, various banchan and other staples that a house needs, like eggs and salt and oil. He indulges in some snacks, deliberately picking low-calorie ones that Jongin wouldn’t feel any guilt having. He buys himself some warm, fluffy socks on a whim and a small carpet and a humidifier for the house. Though his arms are full, he then picks up a 3-person portion of samgyetang from the shop right across the street from the supermarket. His heart is light with the happiness of buying things.

Jongin is there to answer the doorbell when he rings. “Oh, you bought so much!” he exclaims, quickly reaching for the humidifier, the heaviest part of Taemin’s load. “Give me that, I’ll help.”

Together, they put the food away and set up the humidifier in the living room and sit down to share a bag of seaweed crisps.

“Will Lucas be back soon?” Taemin asks. Jongin is friendly but Lucas seems distant; not that Taemin can blame him, after causing trouble for him both last night and this morning. He hopes that the food will ameliorate some of the bad blood between them.

“Back?” Jongin looks confused for a moment before saying “Oh, Lucas doesn’t live here. He drops by when he’s free, but he lives at home. It’s just you and me.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, I can see why you thought so. I wouldn’t mind, but Lucas’ family has expectations for him and this,” Jongin gestures at himself “isn’t a part of it.”

Jongin had mentioned Lucas’ family during their argument; Taemin guesses that they must be wealthy, though homophobia isn’t limited to the rich. There’s nothing much Taemin can say to that. “I’m sorry.”

Jongin shrugs. “It is what it is. So, what about you? Seeing anyone?”

Taemin nearly laughs. No one wants to date a guy who randomly startles in public, who runs away when there’s nothing to run from and who talks to invisible beings. And if anyone wants to date him, the kindest thing he can do for them is to turn them down. “No.”

XXXXX

_hi! have an update! idk when the next one will be, because i'm pretty swamped at work and uni for the forseeable future._


	5. INFO

Dear readers,

I will be deleting this fic in a few days. Thank you for all of your support and encouragement so far, but it's not working out. 

Best wishes, 

sherleigh


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